Fossor
by ammay-chan
Summary: Harry Potter died thrice and this time he's dead for good... or is he? Draco Malfoy stumbles into a War hidden in the shadows. A clue will lead him to a dead hero who is not so dead as he had thought. SUMMARY&WARNINGS INSIDE/darkfic/harryXdraco


**I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER THE MOVIES OR THE BOOKS - I DO NOT MAKE MONEY OFF THIS FANFIC STORY!**

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WRITERS NOTE: I keep wanting to write something darker and more gruesome than any story I've written before. I guess I'll have to lose my sanity over this.

STORY SUMMARY: Harry Potter died thrice and this time he's dead for good... or is he? People change through the years, for better but mostly for worse. Draco Malfoy stumbles upon a conspiracy that cracks open into a War hidden in the shadows where something sinister and not of their world toils in the backdrop of unspeakable events. A clue will lead him to a dead hero who is not so dead as he had thought before. Monsters, Cultists' and Beings oh my!

MY ABC WARNINGS: Angst, Betrayal, Cannibalism, Death, Ethreal, Fanatics, Gore, Humiliation, Intimidation, Justice, Keystones, Love, Madness, Necrophilia, Original-Character, Prophecy, Quarrels, Rape, Sacrifice, Torture, Unisex, Violence, Windershins, Xenophilia, Yaoi, Zealous

TIME PERIOD: Six years after the last book, Harry Potter is twenty-four years old.

PAIRINGS: HARRYxDRACO

DEFINITIONS: Fossor (p) Fossarii _in plural form_ stims from the Latin verb fodere 'to dig' and was referred as grave diggers in the Roman catacombs in the first three centuries of the Christian era (this will play a part in the story)

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**PROLOGUE**

BLOOD IS MADNESS

Darkness is a kind of deep blue, almost black but not quite. The sea is a good example, and of course the sky. I find that the best part of this darkness is right in the center of it all. The vista point off in the horizon where water meets air, mixing and swirling loosing yourself completely. Which way is up? Which way is down?

That dark blue is there waiting to soothe and lull you in a blanket of death.

Did you know? Blue is Death's color.

You'll live your whole life blinded by light and by truth. Trust me, I know. The brightest star you meet will burn you into nothing. I thought the light was suppose to be good, to protect and love. I thought that if I was that star I could bring hope to others. I was wrong. Darkness is the true mother. Death is the true father. They always welcome you back with open arms. They welcome me back.

I can hear them. Calling on the edge of sanity. They're calling my name.

I can see them. In that swirling vortex. The vista point between sea and sky.

Out there, so close and yet so far away. They're almost too distant to see through the smoke and fire. Almost too distant to hear over the screams and falling rubble. But they are there waiting to soothe me and I yearn for them.

I try desperately to reach out to them. The walls are falling all around me, crashing through floors to free prisoners as well as crushing them to death. Sheets of dirty grim shift down around the frantic bodies and waves of fire rush up to meet them. There's a stream of blood trickling from broken slabs of rock and disappearing over the edge of a vast opening to gush into the boiling water below. My legs dangle here.

Bare and cut open in tiny symbols depicting horrifying glyphs of the end of the world, from the soles of my feet up this naked body to the top of my shaven head. Bits and pieces have been cut off me in a nameless torture. My toes and fingertips were taken first, then in order my foreskin, tongue, ears and eyelids. They were destroyed right before me, forever gone, with a questionable powder that liquified them. A cloaked man had stood above me, forcing the burning liquid down my throat while shouting a strange language using syllables only insects and birds can pronounce. Their ritual failed in an unheard of way. Who ever head of a God that didn't want to be remembered? In a way I have failed as well. Myself. For I allowed myself to be played into the jaws of these things, becoming a victim of some forgotten sacrifice to some dark god equally forgotten.

And here I lay, waiting for the end to come cradle away my broken body and soothe my torn soul.

Azkaban falls to ruin. My guards are nothing but empty husks cut down in battle, enemies burn in a fire caused by a great hatred, and the prisoners scramble for escape. But worse is the knowledge that weighs heavy in my heart, a heaviness so profound I do not have the will to move from a doomed fate. It is a knowledge that came on a whispered rumor months before, something preposterous that I ignored. It was a single word that I remained blind of. Betrayal.

It burns in me hotter than the flames drawing closer and chills me colder than the icy winds howling up from below. All that keeps me here trapped, is this lukewarm blood. Still trickling from some thundering alcove above it caresses me. From some dead mounds of flesh it comes to lap gently against me to bid to me: _come along_ as it slides over the edge.

Blood is almost black too. Almost but not quite. It is a cousin of Life and Light, if only by Nature. Instead it is similar to Death and Darkness, in the sense that it too has been misunderstood. Blood is red, yes. Blood is transcending, as it can be filled with so many emotions each one explaining a part of us that we cannot express in words. It resides on this world as well as others. It can have many masks and fool all with its equality. But most of all, blood is madness.

The thundering grows louder followed by squeals from steal. Rocks shift and the slab I lay on groans in protest. My time is soon to be over and I can only stare off, unable to blink, towards the horizon.

The crunching of footsteps to the left and a familiar wail draws my attention. The smoke is thick, but the fires somewhere behind casts a golden glow around the figure standing frozen there amid the destruction. A female, stepping lightly down a half-missing wooden staircase looks over me. She slips into a sitting position covering her mouth with both hands as tears slide out from those orbs that are only for me. She chokes on her sobs and I know she can see how I am now carved with all the hatred the world has held back until now.

Betrayal is a disease only known to the dying. I know it well, but she will never know the full truth of my suffering. I thank her silently for not being apart of a conspiracy that must have been alive as long as I have. Though, I pity her. Her hope in me has been destroyed. In her I fail as well. How sorrowful. There, as I watch this living woman's world crumbling around her I know I cannot help her recover from the lose I have become. It hurts. So painfully.

When a dislodged stone tumbles from a perch up high, I force the last scream from myself to warn her. A scream that is raw and primal with so many emotions it startles her just as much as it does me. Did I scream like that when they cut me up? Was I seen as a perfect victim calling the shadows alive for them? She moves up the stairs, her face contorted in fright and her fear turns my insides cold.

The large stone smashes upon the lower stairs that splitter and break with so much pressure that several pieces spray out wildly. A wayward shard of wood appears as nothing but a speeding shade. It stakes me through an eye and the brilliant pain is all I can feel as my body tumbles over the edge.

She howls my name in complete anguish so loud it follows me down.

Down.

Down.

Down.

As I reach the end...

An arm soft as snow and strong as steel catches me right out of the air. I am brought close against what was once forgotten. Under the shadow of a crumbling Azkaban I am held to the creature that is perched with both feet and the other hand clutching the wet jagged rocks. Just under our feet is a slope that turns into another longer drop to the churning sea. I can only stare through my one remaining eye at the gorgeous monster as recent memories rush back in new horror;

Freezing onyx stone giving way to monstrous depths.

Masses of tentacles squirming in the Earth's mucus.

The smell of rotting bodies who have disappeared from their cells centuries before.

A warbling language droning on and on in a symphony of chaos with musical pipes.

Black acid being forced down my throat while lying in a mud dug tomb.

A silence follows like a gawking corpse trying to breathe.

And then... and then it all shatters as the cloaked cultists were viciously attacked by some unseen force. Body parts were flying off them and life-water spouted from withering forms. The panic began here as their blood seeped into the hole I was left to die in, pooling about me and joining my own.

From those freshly terrifying memories.

A form, Its' horrendous power larger than anything walking this world, becomes trapped in a body no bigger than a humanoid ripped Itself free from the surface of liquid. It's body rested over my torso and this _thing, _covered in blood so thoroughly It looked as if It was made out of the red liquid, let out a mournful cry that carried my own scream with it. The ones in grey bowed, crying, pleading, calling to their dark god;

_ELEKSAV ASKA ELEKSAV ASKA DOVUMID LESAVACT!_

And It hated them_._ So deep was Its' hatred that it burned into me.

Who ever heard of a God that didn't want to be remembered?

Hating those who rebirthed It in the blood of innocence, my blood, It let loose the fire and the vengeance as It crawled over me and ate my tormentors.

But I am far from avenged.

Now, dangling here memories fade as I shiver against the feminine male holding me. The life-water drips from above, joining a mass of more blood slipping and curling around Its' body in the form of long hair. Mesmerizing dark blue eyes stare back and Its' pale body glows from the fading light.

A God of Blood.

A smile splits across Its' delicate face. There is a gleam in those eyes mixing in swirling emotions so vast and endless claiming what's left of my damned self. It embraces me as a lost lover and dear friend. Holds me with such gentleness that brings tears rolling down my cheeks, and almost causes me to forget Its' previous form crawling out from the hole and sinking those sharp teeth into the cultists. Its' voice is like a melody singing through my mind and into my soul. I know It as It knows me. This being is a son of Life and Light, and a daughter of Darkness and Death.

And as it truly speaks, through devilish lips on a tongue of mastery, I know that it owns me, "Harry Potter."

My God. My Blood. My Madness.

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**End Prologue.**

END NOTE: The prologue is the only piece in first person and it is meant to be awkward and strange to understand. It's suppose to give you an idea of Harry Potters' fall from sanity.

POSTING TIMES: Once a week and maybe a few in between.


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